


Under Orders

by theholidayclub



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M, post strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholidayclub/pseuds/theholidayclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Either David or Jack falls asleep on the others shoulder. For whatever reason</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Orders

David really hated tests.

 

He ranted about them to anyone who was willing (or dumb enough) to listen to him. ‘ _They test memory, not knowledge. They offer nothing in practical application. They count towards most of my final grade, yet cover hardly any of the material taught in class.’_

Oh, did David hate tests.

As much as he despised the whole ordeal, he still spent weeks preparing for his finals, pouring over text books and notes, skipping out on trips to Medda’s, even using the weekend to go over everything one last time, instead of going out and selling papes like he usually did.

Jack, as much as he denied it to David’s face on the rare occasions he saw him, was obviously feeling neglected.

In an odd way, it was kind of endearing, but mostly it made him feel guilty. He hardly saw Jack or the other newsies as it was. Going back to school meant being completely inaccessible seven hours a day, and when he got home he usually had homework to do. The small windows of free time, usually after dinner, were now being filled with history dates and math problems, so many David’s head was starting to spin.

He promised, time and time again, that as soon as his tests were done, he’d meet up with his friends to catch up.

Jack held him to that. So much so that when David walked out of the school building after his last test, shuffling his feet and dragging his bag on the ground behind him, Jack was standing there waiting for him, a large smirk on his face.

“You look like hell.”

David glared at Jack, aiming a weak punch at his shoulder. “That’s a flattering greeting. No ‘hello’, no ‘missed you buddy’, just a comment on how exhausted I feel, and look, apparently.”

Jack rolled his eyes, tugging David’s bag from his hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “Dead on your feet and still a Walking Mouth,” he laughed. “Dunno how ya do it, Davey.”

“I’ve got this thing, called a brain. I’ll get you one for your birthday.”

“Don’t waste your money, I already got halfa one.”

David snorted. “What are you even doing here, Jack?”

“I’m under orders o’course.”

Even in his half-conscious state, David thought this seemed a little strange, especially coming from Jack. “You’re taking orders? Whose?”

“Yours, stupid. Or didja forget about that promise where ya’d hang out with the boys after the dumb tests?”

David stopped abruptly, starring at Jack with wide eyes. “Are you serious? Now? I  _just_  finished, Jack. I’m tired, I want to go  _home_.”

“Quit griping,” Jack scolded, wrapping his arm around David’s shoulder and practically dragging him forward. “A promise is a promise, an you ain’t getting’ outta this one.”

Not that David didn’t try, of course.

He whined loudly, a dramatic imitation of Les complaining to their mother, the entire walk to Newsies square. Even surrounded by everyone, Mush, Blink, Boots, all of his friends, he couldn’t help but send a glare at Jack every so often.

He was just so tired. It didn’t matter how much coffee he drank that morning, nothing made up for the nearly sleepless night he’d had, cramming equations into his brain for his math final.

He had tried to talk to everyone, catch up on what he’d missed in the time he’d practically vanished off the face of the earth. And he succeed for a little bit, so long as he had something to lean on. He was sure half the boys thought he had come down with a cold, because he kept covering his yawns with a cough, but he’d rather seem sick than rude.

Eventually though, what little energy David had left had been drained from him, and he sat against the Horace Greeley statue, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“You’re no fun, Davey,” Jack told him, sitting down next to him. “What was the point a comin’ out if ya not gonna talk to anybody.”

David couldn’t even find the energy to glare at Jack. Instead, he let his head drop to the other boy’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m unhappy with you.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, ya look real mad.”

“I didn’t say I was mad, I said I was unhappy.”

“What’s the difference?”

Jack waited for the lecture on grammar he knew was coming. David could go on for ages about how words could have similar definitions but still mean different things when you actually said them out loud.

David could go on for ages about most things, come to think of it.

The spiel never happened. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Jack nearly started laughing again when he realized David had completely passed out, using Jack’s shoulder as a pillow.

“Guess I kinda deserve this,” he mumbled, resting his head back against the statue and letting his own eyes flutter shut.

David was right about pretty much everything. If he said it was nap time, who was Jack to disagree?


End file.
